Page 7 of The Passionate Orc (The Teddy Orcs #1)

N ar

I'd felt nothing like this before.

My large hands trembled as they traced the delicate curve of Emryn's cheek. Her blue eyes looked up at me with such trust, such desire. The moonlight streaming through her bedroom window caught in her curly brown hair, making it shine like burnished copper. My chest tightened at the sight.

"You're sure?" I whispered, my voice rough with emotion.

Emryn smiled, her fingers trailing up my bare chest. "I've never been more sure of anything, Nar."

Our lips met, and I tried to be gentle, my tusks grazing her soft skin.

By the ancestors, I wanted to be gentle with her.

Emryn was so small, so delicate compared to me, like a fragile blossom in my battle-worn hands.

But her kiss wasn't delicate at all. It was hungry and demanding.

Her fingers digging into my back, pulling me closer until I could feel every soft curve pressed against my hard angles.

Fire raced through my veins at her touch, a primal need roaring to life deep within me.

"I won't break," she murmured against my mouth, her breath hot on my skin.

The scent of her filled my head with paint and flowers, a heady perfume that made my senses reel. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, my pulse pounding in my ears. "You don't know what you do to me," I growled, my voice rough with barely restrained desire.

Her laugh was breathy, sending shivers down my spine. "Show me."

So I did. With every touch, every kiss, I tried to tell her what words couldn't. How her art had shown me a part of myself I'd hidden away, a piece of my soul I never knew existed.

How her smile made my warrior's heart stumble and soar all at once.

How I'd never thought someone like her, so bright and beautiful, could want someone like me, a rough-hewn orc with blood on his hands.

We moved together slowly, my calloused hands mapping every inch of her silken skin like I was memorizing a masterpiece.

Each gasp, each sigh from her lips was a symphony to my ears.

And when we joined, when she cried out my name against my shoulder, her nails raking down my back, I knew I was lost forever.

A growl of pure ecstasy tore from my throat as I drowned in the feel of her, in the scent of our passion.

"Look at me," I whispered, my voice raw with emotion.

And she did, her blue eyes never leaving mine as we moved together, our bodies entwined in a dance as old as time.

Something passed between us then, something that went beyond the physical, beyond the heat of the moment.

It was a connection, a bond forged in the crucible of our desire.

I'd fought in battles, stood against enemies twice my size, but nothing had ever made me feel as vulnerable, or as powerful, as Emryn's gaze in that moment.

In her eyes, I saw everything I'd ever wanted, everything I never dared to dream of.

And I knew, with a certainty that shook me to my core, that I would move mountains, slay dragons, do anything to keep her safe, to make her mine.

After, we lay tangled in her sheets, her little body curled against my chest. I traced patterns on her bare shoulder, watching goosebumps rise in the wake of my touch.

"What are you thinking?" she asked, her fingers playing with the pendant I always wore, a small red stone, the symbol of my clan.

I smiled in the darkness. "That I never want to leave this bed."

She laughed, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Well, you're welcome to stay the night."

My arm tightened around her. "Just the night?"

"We'll see about tomorrow." But I could hear the smile in her voice as she drifted off to sleep.

I lay awake longer, listening to her breathe, feeling the unfamiliar peace that had settled over me. In my clan, to show such tenderness was weakness. But here, with Emryn's warm weight against me, I couldn't remember why I'd ever believed that.

The smell woke me. Not the good kind of smell smell.

I opened my eyes to an empty bed and the distinct scent of something burning. For a second, I panicked – enemies? Fire? – before I heard Emryn's voice from the kitchen, a string of colorful curses that would have impressed even the most seasoned warriors of my clan.

Grabbing my pants from the floor, I pulled them on and padded barefoot toward the commotion. The sight that greeted me nearly made me laugh out loud.

Emryn stood in her tiny kitchen, wearing nothing but my shirt from last night (which hung to her knees) and a look of utter frustration. A pan on the stove smoked ominously, and what might have once been pancakes now resembled charred battle shields.

"Morning," I said, leaning against the doorframe.

She whirled around, a wooden spoon in hand like a weapon. "I was going to surprise you with breakfast."

"I am surprised." I couldn't help the grin spreading across my face. "Surprised the building isn't on fire."

She narrowed her eyes, but I could see her lips twitching. "Very funny. I'll have you know I'm an excellent artist."

"And a terrible cook?"

"The worst," she admitted with a laugh. "But I was trying to?—"

Whatever she was about to say cut off by a piercing sound that had me covering my sensitive ears. The smoke alarm. Of course.

"Ancestors preserve me," I muttered, crossing the kitchen in two strides to snatch the smoking pan off the stove. Emryn was already climbing onto a chair, trying to reach the wailing device on the ceiling.

The large tee shirt rode up as she stretched, revealing the curve of her thighs. My mouth went dry at the sight, and I nearly dropped the pan.

"A little help here?" she called over the noise.

I set the pan in the sink and moved to her side, easily reaching up to silence the alarm. When I turned back, Emryn was looking at the blackened remains of breakfast with a dejected expression.

"So much for my romantic morning-after surprise," she sighed.

I couldn't resist pulling her into my arms, lifting her off the chair and setting her gently on the counter. She automatically wrapped her legs around my waist, instantly reminding me of last night.

"I know how to make pancakes," I said, pressing my forehead to hers.

Her eyebrows shot up. "You do?"

"Don't sound so shocked." I pretended to be offended. "I have many talents."

"Besides being a fearsome warrior and a secret artist?" She wound her arms around my neck, her eyes dancing with amusement.

I shrugged, suddenly a little self-conscious. "My mother taught me. She said no son of hers would starve if left alone."

A soft look crossed Emryn's face. "That's sweet. No one in my family cooks. We're all hopeless. Dad once set fire to a salad."

"A salad?" I pulled back to look at her. "How is that even possible?"

"He was trying to make a warm vinaigrette." She laughed. "Our smoke alarm got more use than our oven."

I kissed the tip of her nose. "Sit down and let me handle this."

Emryn hopped off the counter, pulling herself onto the stool at her small kitchen island.

I felt her eyes on me as I moved around her kitchen, finding bowls and ingredients.

I was acutely aware of my bare chest, of the scars that crossed my green skin, badges of honor among my clan, but probably strange to her.

"You're staring," I said without turning around.

"You're shirtless in my kitchen making pancakes. Of course I'm staring."

I smiled to myself, mixing the batter with practiced movements.

This felt both strange and right, domestic in a way I'd never experienced before.

Warriors of the Red Blade Orcs didn't do "domestic.

" We conquered, we fought, we protected.

But standing in Emryn's sunlit kitchen, with her watching me with those bright blue eyes, I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.

"Where did you learn to paint?" she asked suddenly.

My hand stilled for just a moment. No one had ever asked me that before.

"The clan elder's wife," I said, pouring batter into a fresh pan. "She saw me drawing in the dirt when I was a child. Instead of scolding me for wasting time, she gave me paints."

"And you had to hide it?"

I nodded, flipping a perfectly golden pancake with a flick of my wrist. "Among my clan, warriors are warriors. Artists are something else. Something less."

"That's sad," Emryn said quietly.

I shrugged, trying to make it seem less important than it was. "It's just our way."

"And cooking? Is that allowed for warriors?"

I glanced at her over my shoulder with a grin. "Only because everyone needs to eat. But if you tell anyone I can make heart shapes with the batter, I'll deny it completely."

Her laugh was like music. "Your secret's safe with me."

Soon I had a stack of pancakes on a plate, golden and fluffy, nothing like the charred remains of Emryn's attempt. I added some sliced fruit I'd found in her fridge and set the plate before her with a flourish.

"Impressive," she said, her eyes widening at the sight.

I watched as she took her first bite, her eyes closing in appreciation. A strange pride swelled in my chest, different from the pride of victory in battle, but somehow just as satisfying.

"This is amazing," she mumbled around a mouthful. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Waiting for you to find me," I replied, the words out before I could stop them.

Emryn's eyes softened, and she reached across the counter to take my hand. "I'm glad I did."

I squeezed her fingers gently, always mindful of my strength. "Me too."

She pulled me down for a kiss that tasted of maple syrup and possibilities. When we broke apart, her eyes were dancing with mischief.

"So, hidden artist, secret chef... what other talents are you hiding, Nar Humperdink?"

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a growl. "Stick around and find out."

A delicious flush spread across her cheeks. "I think I will."

Sitting across from each other in her small, sunny kitchen, sharing pancakes and shy smiles, I felt something shifting inside me. The walls I'd built between my two selves, the warrior and the artist, seemed thinner now, less important. Emryn saw all of me, and still wanted me.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of being seen.